The Other Detective
by TimeWarrior42
Summary: What happens when two of London's most sought-after detectives finally meet? When Sherlock and Layton are forced to work together on a case, Sherlock must learn what it is like to work with an intellectual equal if they are to solve the puzzle. Rated T just in case.


John entered trudged up the stairs and entered his flat, arms laden with bags of groceries. He brought them into the small kitchen and pushed aside a group of empty beakers, making room for the groceries on the table, and began to put the food away. Sherlock sat in his usual chair, his hands pressed together, staring into the empty air. He was drumming his fingers together and didn't react when his flat mate entered the room. John had often seen him like this, usually when they were working on a case, but he didn't have a case now, did he? Had he somehow magically acquired enough people skills in the last hour to talk to a client politely enough that they wouldn't walk out two minutes after meeting him? Maybe the client was just desperate. Somehow, John got the feeling that it wasn't either of these things.

He glanced over at Sherlock as he restocked another cabinet. The drumming had stopped. John sighed inwardly. Most people wouldn't find something like that important, but John had known Sherlock long enough to know that this meant the detective had reached a conclusion. About what, John hadn't the slightest idea. All he knew was that Sherlock was bound to be bursting to tell him about it. Of course, Sherlock would never be the one to start the conversation so as not to seem too eager. John sighed and asked the inevitable question.

"What is it?"

Sherlock glanced up at him, annoyed. "What do you mean, what is it?"

John placed the milk in the fridge, the last of the groceries. "Well, I noticed you put up your picture web thing on the wall since I left an hour ago. Did you get a new case?"

Sherlock glanced at the wall above the couch, apparently uninterested. "Yes, I suppose I did. No, no case. Make me a cup of tea, will you?"

"Well, it must be up there for some reason," John persisted. "What are you doing?"

"Never mind the tea, I'm going out to the Yard," Sherlock said, ignoring the question.

"The Yard?"

"Yes John, you know, that building where the police work."

"I know what the Scotland Yard is Sherlock."

"You're smarter than you look then. Could have had me fooled."

John took a deep breath, trying hard not to snap at Sherlock. "Why are you going to the Yard if you don't have a case?"

"I'm hoping to meet someone there."

"Anyone in particular?"

Sherlock said nothing.

After a moment of silence, John asked, "Is it a girl?"

"No, of course not." He said this as if it was a simple fact, so John believed him.

"Who is it then? Lestrade?"

Sherlock made a sound that could only be described as a snort. "Lestrade? I think being forced to interact with him in cases is enough, don't you?"

John stayed silent. He knew that Sherlock was actually quite fond of the Inspector, so he didn't feel like he needed to defend him. He waited, knowing that Sherlock would eventually get to the point.

Sherlock stood and walked to the wall, making a point to step on top of the small coffee table in front of the couch. He stared intently at the mess of papers and pictures pinned to the wall, his hands once again pressed together in front of him. John joined him at the wall, taking in the information in front of him. The pictures seemed to be all focused on a man that could be no older than his mid 30s. He wasn't particularly tall and was almost always wearing a brown coat over an orange shirt and a distinguishing top hat. He was often seen around a small boy and a young woman. The boy wore a white shirt and blue shorts with a hat to match and carried a brown bag with him. The woman was a person that was hard to miss, having a giant mane of wavy brown hair and wearing a bright yellow trench coat and a pale pink bowtie. She was often holding a camera or riding a motor scooter. The man was the subject of several newspaper articles, most having to do with archeology or detective work.

John pointed at one of the clippings. "I remember reading about this in the papers a few weeks ago. Something about an old city found in the middle of the desert."

"Yes, one of his many . . . achievements. I've been following this man for quite some time now John. He's a professor of archaeology at Gressenheller University, the youngest ever to be admitted."

John was extremely confused. "You've been following . . . a professor?"

"Yes John, yes. Must you always repeat everything I say?"

"So you're meeting this professor at the Yard? Why is he there?"

"I plan on meeting him there, but he's not aware of this arrangement. My sources heave told me he'll be there today." He turned away suddenly, grabbing his coat and tying a blue scarf around his neck. "Come if you'd like." Sherlock smiled wryly. "Of course if you don't, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would love help. It is cleaning day after all." He started down the stairs, smirking as he heard John's footsteps behind him a few seconds later.

**Short intro, I know. I've been entertaining the idea of writing this for a while, but right now I'm mostly working on this until I get past my writer's block on my other stories, and I'm also planning for a normal Sherlock fanfic. The meeting between Sherlock and Hershel in the next chapter is going to be interesting :)**

**As always, please R&R!**


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